


And Now For Something Completely Different

by JayTDawgzone9999



Series: OC Adventures [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Dystopia, Dystopian World, Existential Angst, Fridge Horror, Mental Health Issues, Mentally unstable character, Middle-Aged Character, Noodle Incidents, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, POV Original Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Random & Short, References to Depression, The Addams Family references, Trauma, Unsettling, Weirdness, ambiguous mental disorders, ambiguously human character, cosmic horror, dystopian universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:47:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28644696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayTDawgzone9999/pseuds/JayTDawgzone9999
Summary: A lonely middle-aged man contemplates the various circumstances of his life and reflects upon how they led to the current cluster-fuck he finds himself embroiled in.
Series: OC Adventures [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906642
Kudos: 2





	And Now For Something Completely Different

**Author's Note:**

> Tw: slight mention of suicidal ideation, it's just a brief sentence but heads up in case that sort of thing bothers you. This oc of mine is a very mentally unstable and has a boatload of trauma and psychological problems and is in general a very weird person. If he reminds you of another oc of mine, that's intentional because they're connected in certain ways, which I might write more about later if I feel like it.

Though it wasn't something he had grown up with, the cold didn't bother him. One of the advantages of having a lot of meat on his bones was finding it easy to get used to it. Another advantage of being roughly 400 lbs. of almost pure muscle was obvious, he realized as he was butchering a feral hog the size of a mid-sized Sedan, not that he knew or cared what a Sedan (or any other kind of car,) was. Standing at about eight feet tall, he was too tall to fit inside most cars, which was one of the many reasons why he did not own one. 

When his tedious but necessary task was complete, he took a few of the steaks he had cut from the massive pig's body, tossing them in a pan heavy enough that most people would break their arm if they tried to pick it up. Cooking it over a crudely made stove in the spartan, bare-bones cabin he had built for himself on the outskirts of the outskirts of the smallest town in the nation closest to the border, with nothing but the empty land outside for company and nothing but the sound of silence to fill the air, he noticed for once, that his mind was unoccupied. 

Though it rarely showed on his face, which often hid his emotions like a mask, he was no stranger to experiencing varied and complex emotional states at all hours of the day and night and then some. Today, (or tonight, rather, as the sun was setting,) was no different. At least now he had some peace and quiet, which aside from the company of young and beautiful women (or honestly, any woman of legal age with a pussy and a pulse and a not completely repulsive personality,) was one of the things he enjoyed most in life. The first was easier to come by than the second, as most women, whatever their age and whatever their looks, often crossed the street to avoid him or flinched if he got near them, the smell of their fear soaking into his skin and clothes and hair just as easily as the exhaust from the cars and buses in the city, the pollution from the factories there, and the many and varying smells of food, alcohol, cigarettes, trash, and despair. He hated the city and its smells, too many smells, too strong and unnatural, nothing at all like the natural smells one could find in nature. Its lights, too, were too bright and its sounds were too loud. That was why, when he was able to, he preferred to stay away from the city whenever possible. 

Despair was perhaps a bit too strong of a word for it, but he had known his share of struggles. His family was broken and his wives were dead, his dreams seeming as out of reach as ever there in his little old cabin in a place remote enough that it could not by any means be called a city, town, or even a village. Men and women alike shunned him more often than not, keeping their distance like terrified hikers who spotted a mountain lion in the woods. On more than one occasion, he had approached someone, either out of necessity or just by accident, only to have them piss themselves in terror, which was doubly unfortunate because there were no shoes in the world big enough to fit him. Women who tolerated his presence were too few and too far in between, but heartbreak and grief found him all the same, his second wife dying just as horribly as the first one had, and the six after that dying in a way that was even worse. In a way, he was glad that his preference only included women, because that left him with half the amount of people (with the exception of his children) that could break his heart and (with the exception of his employer,) half the amount of people that he could disappoint. 

The first and the second were just the product of chance, but the six afterwards (with one exception,) he made sure were younger than him to lessen the chances of them dying before him like the first two had. It didn't work, of course. He should have known as much, but of course, he didn't.-I am just a stupid old man, after all. A stupid old man who never learns.-He shook his head, a frown on his face. Sometimes he had felt that he had not deserved any of them, but he missed them all the same, their absence leaving an empty hole that he now felt could no longer be filled, not anymore. 

He did not consider himself intelligent. That was why, despite his appearance and his personality hindering his ability to form a significant number of lasting friendships, he was glad for his strength and his work ethic. He was not a genius, but he was strong, stronger than anything else that walked the earth or swam in its seas or flew in its skies, and he would stop at nothing to accomplish his goals. That was, he supposed, the only reasons he was still alive at his old age despite often wondering if it wouldn't be better if he were dead. Yet, since he had lived this long, longer than most from his homeland ever had, he could only assume there must be a reason for it. He was not so foolish and deluded as some of the city-dwellers he encountered, who claimed there was nothing on this Earth but the living creatures one could see and comprehend with one's own eyes after all. One did not live to be as old as he had by being a fool, after all, at least not unless they had money, which he had no use for. Though he was not as well-learned as he would have liked, he understood the basic principles of life, the teachings of his ancestors were something he kept close at all times, remembering and recording, for if he was not willing to do so, then who would? 

Sitting down to eat his dinner, he heated up a bath for himself, getting inside the tub (more of a large bucket, but it served its purpose,) before turning on the old-fashioned television he had found in a dumpster somewhere and fixed up for himself despite having a general distrust of technology. It was important to stay up to date with current events, after all, even if half the news was bullshit and lies. Knowing what the enemy was trying to brainwash people into believing was vital, as such precious intel could not be ignored. 

"Look what time it is." he said when he heard some stuffy talking suit on the news mention something about the stock market. "Time for more bullshit." He never liked watching the news, but not liking it was no excuse for not knowing what sort of bullshit the government was trying to squash into the brains of the masses. Knowing the enemy as well as yourself was the key to achieving victory, after all. 

For half a second, he thought of getting up to get another bottle of whiskey from the shelf, but he was too comfortable (and lazy) at the moment to bother. Besides, it looked like there was still one last sip in the bottle, after all. This is what he had expected, after all, having no choice but to live alone these days. He was just about to turn off the TV and drag his lazy ass out of the tub to sharpen one of his hunting knives until the news segment was interrupted for a random announcement. 

"Hold on, everyone, a new breaking story has just arrived, here to share the most important details you should all know is Ms. Beverly Watson, a local Godhouse parishioner who saw the breaking events unfold with her own two eyes The full story will be on the Tonight show at 7 pm in less than 60 seconds after a short commercial break." 

"Welcome to the show!" A vaguely disinterested woman holding a microphone with about as much enthusiasm as someone watching paint dry, announced, a crowd of people sitting behind him. Oh great, talk shows. Here we go- "Voodoo witch doctors, here in the New Republic of America. Do they really exist or is this just tabloid hooey? We'd love you to call in with your comments after a short account from a woman who claims to have spotted them." 

An owl screeched outside but he paid it no mind, glancing at the old-fashioned telephone sitting near the tub as the newscaster droned on. A middle-aged woman in a high-necked dress with (what he considered to be,) far too many buttons appeared on the TV, holding a sheet of paper in her hand-it must be a slow news day, the man thought to himself, but decided to listen anyways because really, he had nothing better to do (and nothing better to drink than some old whiskey.) 

"Voodoo witch doctors, here in the New Republic of America! I saw them with my own two eyes!" These vile treasonous harlots are running rampant-they have no husbands, no children, they don't even pay taxes!" The middle-aged woman said, the newscaster, a blonde woman wearing a white jacket and a pearl necklace, holding the microphone wearing a not-so-interested expression on her face. 

"So you claim your daughter was brainwashed by voodoo witch doctors and forced to recruit others, is that correct?" The newscaster asked, holding the microphone up to the distraught woman. The newscaster asked, turning to the audience with his microphone still in his hand. "Let's take a call." 

The man, who picked up the phone sitting by the tub, spoke into the phone. "Hello, Sarah." 

"Mr. xxxxx, please, stop calling. We do not know where they meet!-Let's take another call." 

The man slammed the phone down-figures as much. Wearing nothing but a slight scowl on his face, he flipped the channel. Maybe I ought to grab another bottle of whiskey after all. 

The owl screeched outside again as the man got out of the tub to go find another bottle of whiskey. Looking at the phone he had just slammed down, he realized he had probably slammed it down too hard. What a bother. This would make calling his daughter a challenge, to be sure. But not matter, he thought, taking a swig from another bottle of whiskey. He had business in the big city soon, and even someone like him never knew what he would find there. He might even find his daughter there one day, and if that was the case, then it was certainly worth the trouble of heading there.

**Author's Note:**

> The scene with him watching the news was based on that part in The Addams Family where Gomez is watching the news and calls the news station when he hears about some voodoo witch doctors, which you can watch by clicking this link (the scene starts at 4:14) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o12jazN4tKg&list=PLlXqHikVVQDThlMaTTUGidvyeB-SWSxPh&index=13


End file.
